Still, I Wonder
by Dahlia d'Arque
Summary: Nearly a decade ago, I lost the man I once called my Father. Ever since that fateful day, I've mourned his loss. Each year, I tell myself that it'll become easier to cope with him being gone. But it never does. Now it is Yuletide once more, and here I stand at the Campo Seta Dockyards, flowers in hand, still waiting for the hurt to fade away…


**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas and happy holidays, dear readers! I would just like to quickly note that this short story **does not** contain any spoilers for _Dishonored 2_. This is merely serving as a taste of what's to come, when I complete my plotlines for _The Knife of Dunwall_ and _The Brigmore Witches,_ and begin to dabble much more in _Dishonored 2's_ world.

The story is a tad bit on the depressing side of things. However, I've been sick with a viral infection for the last two and a half weeks, and I haven't exactly been in the greatest of moods due to that. So, yeah…Anyways…

I really hope you enjoy this short story! Any follows, favorites, or reviews are greatly appreciated! And once again, I wish you and your families a Merry Christmas and a very happy holidays!

* * *

 ** _Still, I Wonder  
_**

 ** _A Pre-Dishonored 2 Tale_**

* * *

 _Patrol Route 721_

 _Karnaca, The Isle of Serkonos_

 _Twenty-fourth Day, Month of Songs, 1845_

 ** __O_O_O__**

The sun was setting over the long horizons of Karnaca, the Jewel of the South. After having finished my patrol route – or more accurately, interrogating the men under my command to make sure they were doing their damned jobs at Addermire Station – I made my way to a florist for a last minute purchase. Parting with thirty coins decorated with the face of Empress Emily Kaldwin I, I left the florist with a large bouquet of red and white roses, some of their thorns still on the stems, and made my way to the Campo Seta Dockyards.

I walked down the lengthy pier until I stood at its edge. Absently, I was clutching the roses close to my chest, as I stared out at the vast Ocean.

"I know you hate roses," I murmured, my lower lip trembling, "but it was all I could get this time. Can you ever forgive me?"

There was no answer.

Of course there wasn't. The man I hoped was hearing my words wasn't there. Yet, he's not dead. At least…at least as far as I know. He's just…missing, is all. Yes, missing…

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes. Outsider's eyes, I promised myself each year that I wouldn't cry. And each year, I did my damndest to keep the tears from falling. But my efforts were never enough. I always cried, despite chastising myself to stay strong. Not only for the memory of the man I once called my Father, but also for the memory of those who had lost their lives too soon, and for those who were still fortunate enough to walk this Outsider-forsaken earth.

I heard footsteps behind me, and I felt a presence. Yet, I didn't bother to turn around, or drop my hand to the hilt of my officer's blade. I didn't feel threatened enough to care.

"I remember when I was your age" an old woman's voice said. "A moonstruck young maiden, I was. Scorned by men more than once! But here I am today, outliving husbands one through three. So, are you okay, darling? You must be feeling something awful, being out here all alone on Yuletide's Eve."

 _…_ _What?_

Now I turned, to glance at the old woman. I hated mysteries, and this was definitely one. The old woman was no more than four-foot-eleven in height, with wiry hair the color of silver and the traditional brown eyes of a Serkonan. She wore a simple, long-sleeved shirt and vest, with deep brown breeches and ankle-high boots.

"You're brave," I said flatly, hiding the bouquet of flowers behind my back. "Not many people would so boldly approach a Grand Serkonan Guardswoman like this, let alone one who is a decorated Captain and Technical Officer."

The old woman smiled warmly. "Not all of ya are complete monsters. And by the hairy arse of the Outsider, it's almost Yuletide's Day! No one deserves to be alone on this great holiday."

"You're right. So it's fortunate that I have someone waiting for me when I get home. But…" I swore under my breath at my hesitation. The old woman didn't seem to notice.

"The flowers ain't for a lover, are they?" she asked.

"No they're not, Miss…?"

"Vittoria Hyle. Now, you know my name. What's yours?"

"Captain Zenevieva Esau."

"A pleasure to meet ya, Captain," she offered me her hand, which I shook firmly. "And thank you for your service to our great Isle. So, you'll forgive me for prying, but if the flowers ain't for a lover, who are they for?"

"My Father," I replied, my voice unable to decide on a specific emotion. "He…disappeared almost a decade ago."

"Oh," Miss Hyle said, dolefully. "I'm so sorry to hear that. He was never found?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Lost at sea, I take it?"

 _You're asking too many questions, old woman. Don't make me kill you._ "You could say that."

"That's a shame. Truly, it is. My brother was lost at sea, many years ago. I grieved for years after his death. Still miss the miserable sod to this day. Believe me when I say that I understand where you're coming from."

"Thank you."

She took my hand again, patting it gently with her wrinkly fingers. "I'll leave ya to your business, then. You should let me host you and your…?"

"Husband."

"Ah, yes, yes. I had ya figured for the husband type. You should let me host you and your husband for dinner some night. I live in an apartment, in the Lower Aventa Quarter. It'd be my pleasure to entertain a person of your stature."

"When I get the chance, I'll speak with him about it."

"Good! Excellent!" she clapped her hands together, and smiled. "Yuletide greetings, Captain Esau."

"Yuletide greetings, Miss Hyle."

The old woman walked away, and I couldn't help but wonder what in the Outsider's name had just transpired. No one had ever so brazenly approached me like that before. Normally, the citizens of Karnaca – and perhaps the other cities in Serkonos – keep their distance from the Grand Serkonan Guard. Yet, unlike many of my fellow guardsmen and guardswomen, I don't enjoy the days we have to perform shakedowns. Especially when they're for the most ridiculous of reasons.

I'm not perfect. Outsider's black eyes, I'm not even sure I'm perfectly _sane_. Yet, even a person like me has their limits, and senseless shakedowns were one of them. I had quite a few others, given the nature of my work – and my former line of work. But I needed the job, and I can't complain about the pay. So, like every other person in this world, I do what I need to do to survive.

 _Huh…that's never changed, come to think of it._

The tears stung at my eyes again, as I thought about what I once had, and how it had been so violently wrested away from me.

 _Damn that Royal Spymaster, that traitor, that witch, and those zealots…_

I turned, gazing back out at the Ocean, as I gathered the courage to speak once more. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, my throat would tighten, and my tongue tripped over itself, trying to form even the simplest of sentences.

 _This is going to be a long evening._

* * *

 ** __O_O_O__**

* * *

Night had fallen over Karnaca. The moon was so close to the earth tonight. It appeared as though I could simply step up onto my tip-toes and caress it. The winds blew slightly, but not fiercely, carrying a chill with them. Yet, that chill was nothing compared to the cold I had endured while living in Dunwall, the capital of the Isle of Gristol.

Even after all these years, I wasn't sure I'd ever find anything that could compare to that wretched city. Sure, the bloodflies are a pest here, but the rats weren't any better there. And I'd lost so much in Dunwall. Well…a lot of people did, actually. Perhaps some of them wouldn't be so drastic, but what I wouldn't give to see that cursed place finally burn to the ground, and never be rebuilt…

I ran my hand through my hair, and sighed.

Loss is never easy. And say what you will, but it is utter bloodfly _crap_ when they say that all wounds heal with time.

They don't.

Judging from the position of the moon, it was just past midnight. So, it is now the twenty-fifth day of the Month of Songs. _It still feels as though it were only the Eve but mere moments ago._ In a matter of a few hours, the sun would be rising again. Children all across the Isles will be jumping out of their beds with glee, eagerly awaiting the gifts that some questionable – yet Abbey of the Everyman approved – deity had left for them.

The songs speak of how it's the most wonderful time of the year. A time where hearths baked breads and sweets without abandon. A time where small pine trees were decorated inside of homes. A time where candles were lit, families were gathered, and stories were exchanged. A time where all wars would temporarily cease, and enemies would dine at each other's tables.

Yet, what did I have, aside from a husband who would move the world for me? Of course I loved him. I've killed for him. But it still wouldn't bring the dead back, or my Father. So is there even a grain of truth to these songs, that Yuletide is the most wonderful time of the year?

For as long as I could remember, our homes were never permanent. Though, it never seemed to matter. We were a family…albeit one of misfits. They called us lepers, and lepers we remained. Our homes ranged from abandoned, haunted insane asylums, to dilapidated buildings on the verge of collapse…and worse. We had survived the City of Dunwall's nightmarish Rat Plague with minimal losses. We had survived the brink of the Empire's collapse.

And if that didn't seem horrific enough, we had even survived the wrath of the Abbey of the Everyman itself. Although, heavy losses were sustained. _Why do people even believe in the zealots? That's all they are. They don't care about what happens to their "flock," as long as they get some supposed heretics to burn, and coin to fill their coffers._

Growing up, I honestly believed that our gang was invincible. I considered my Father to be immortal, I treasured him so. Like all childhood fantasies, however, on a very fateful day, I learned just how wrong I really was. About our gang. About my Father. About…so many things.

When I was eighteen years of age, my Father – who also happened to be the leader of our gang – vanished in a puff of dark, smoky tendrils. One moment, I recall that we were all gathered round, watching as he and his greatest adversary danced a waltz of death. There was naught of their silhouettes but for sparks and black magic.

To this day, I will never understand how my Father lost the battle.

His adversary didn't kill him, of course. Much to…all of our surprises, actually. Given what we had done, we practically warranted a death sentence – my Father and I especially so.

Regardless, everything did go downhill after that battle. My brothers…many of them were in fact arrested and put to death for the crimes they committed. Some of them managed to escape the wrath of Empress Emily Kaldwin's City Watchmen, forming vicious new gangs and hoping to make a living when they couldn't find legitimate means of employment. A few of my brothers became whalers on those great ships.

And then there were a remaining few, just like myself, who escaped Dunwall entirely, seeking a new way of life.

Shortly before my departure from Dunwall, I discovered that my Father had left me several things to remember him by. He had left me several hundred coin; several tomes on black magic and subjects regarding the Business of Death; and his blade. But I never did forgive him for leaving me, leaving _us,_ there. I never got the chance to give him one more hug, or tell him how much he meant to me…

I never got the chance to say goodbye.

I think that's what hurt me the most. Sure, I had some things to remember him by. It doesn't change the fact that they're still just _things._ And even though I call him my Father, he isn't my birth father. You honestly wouldn't believe me if I told you who my _real_ father was. He's dead, in case you were wondering.

Yet, ever since I was a little girl, the man who rescued me from my monster of a mother imparted his knowledge and his legendary skills upon me. I was the one he wanted to carry his legacy, when his apprentice failed him, and fell from his favor.

To this day, I still practice my Father's teachings. They serve me very well, as do my other… _talents._ I cannot help but wonder if he would be proud of me for finding a new use for these skills. For being able to create a new and prosperous life for myself. _I certainly like to think he would…_

That is why from the beginning of the year, to his birthday, everything in between, and the Fugue Feast, I come to the Dockyards to gaze up at the stars. To stare out at the Ocean. Sometimes I come here just to sit on the pier and contemplate my thoughts.

I don't know where my Father is now. But I _know_ he's not dead. Everyone always called him old – his enemies especially – but I knew the truth. He wasn't that old. He was under constant stress, and I believe that stress took its toll on him. It did take its toll on many of us.

And living legends don't die at the end of some vagrant's blade. The Outsider himself knows I would certainly have found out if he did. Then I would have found a way to resurrect him from the dead, just to scold him as he used to do to me, when I failed him.

 _I need to get this over with. My husband will be wondering where I am, if I don't return soon. So clingy, he can be at times…_

I took a deep, calming breath, as I steadied my shaking hands. Then, I held the bouquet of roses out over the Ocean. I looked up at the moon, the stars.

"I don't know where you are now," I began in a whisper, "and I know you hate roses, but I hope they, like all the other flowers I've cast out to sea, find you. Even though you shattered my heart, and the hearts of those around you, I still love you. I know you. I know that you're out there somewhere. Maybe you're somewhere on a nearby rooftop, watching me like you used to do. I came to Karnaca all those years ago to specifically look for you…Aside from escaping Dunwall, of course. But…still…I feel it in my gut that I'm not wrong.

"You're in Serkonos. You had a dream, a hope, for a new life. After everything we did, after everything we accomplished together…after all the losses we endured at the hands of that _traitor…_ As much as I hate you for leaving, I can't blame you for wanting to do so. I just wish I could see you one last time.

"I can feel it, you know. Another storm is brewing. I fear that I'm going to be swept up in it. Maybe you will be, too…I don't know. All I want is to see you one last time, before this cursed world gobbles us up like the morsels we are…"

I wiped the tears from my eyes with the sleeve of my uniform, and brushed my raven hair behind my ear. "Yuletide greetings, Master Daud. Yuletide greetings."

I kissed the bouquet of flowers, throwing it as far as I could into the Ocean.

For a few moments, I lingered to watch the bouquet float away.

I turned on my heels, and began to make the long trek back to my home in the Upper Aventa Quarter. Yet, the whole while, I could have sworn that someone was watching me. Following me, even.

"Maybe you are here, after all," I murmured, suddenly realizing that I was smiling.

I turned in the direction I felt the eyes upon me, and I scanned the immediate area, making sure I was the only Guardsman here, before I unsheathed my officer's blade. I placed my sword hand on my chest, and slashed downwards to my side – the official bow of the Whalers.

Then, I sheathed my blade, and continued on my long trek home.


End file.
